


Look After You

by nothfan



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Gil Arroyo is Malcolm Bright's Parent, Hurt/Comfort, Malcolm Bright Gets a Hug, Malcolm Bright Needs a Hug, Malcolm Bright is a Mess, Malcolm is a whiny child when he’s sick, Protective Gil Arroyo, Sick Character, Sickfic, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:22:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29658204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothfan/pseuds/nothfan
Summary: Basically a fluffy sickfic with Gil looking out for Malcolm.It’s based around early season one, Designer Complicity, but no actual spoilers.
Relationships: Gil Arroyo & Malcolm Bright
Comments: 10
Kudos: 28





	Look After You

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve added the spanking tag at the end, cause although there isn’t a spanking as such, there are a couple of swats and a mention of spanking. And I didn’t want to offend any casual reader by not mentioning it 🥰

Gil paused the flow of the small talk he’d been exchanging with Bright over a small whiskey, after a day of mostly paperwork and a court appearance to close the Tatiana murder case. He tapped the stack of paper sharply on the desk to get it in order, ready to file away. The unexpected silence in the room caught his attention, glancing over to see Bright had fallen asleep on his couch. Head lolling backwards. 

He hadn't realised his conversation had been that boring, shaking the thought off he got up and went to wake the boy up, unlike his subordinates he didn’t require body armour. He had over twenty years of experience under his belt, so knew the drill.

“Kid, come on let’s get you home,” he said gently, crossing to the couch, reaching out to shake Bright’s arm. He paused at the heat emanating from him. Bright’s eyes flew open before he make physical contact,

“Bright? You okay...are you coming down with something?”  
“Wasn’t sleeping, just resting my eyes...” 

“Are you sick kid?” Gil interrupted, eyes narrowing to a frown.

“I don’t need mothering Gil, I’m fine,” Bright huffed hauling himself upright, surprise registering when the effort didn’t quite pay off and he flopped back down. A little embarrassed he accepted the helping hand Gil offered. Avoiding Gil’s scrutiny.

Gil’s concern grew, Bright’s skin was hot to the touch, added to that he grimaced as he was finally hauled upright. Bright made a feeble attempt to free himself but Gil gently turned his hand over.

“What’s this?” Gil nodded at the hand he held.  
“That’s commonly know as a plaster,” he snarked.

“Malcolm?” the clear note of warning in his tone had the boy dropping his eyes.

“It’s just a scratch, I’m fine...just tired, no sleep in three days will do that. I just need to go home and sleep.” Bright said, trying and failing to reclaim his captured hand.

Gil slowly released Bright’s hand, “sit,” he said with a nod in the direction of the couch, “let me see,” 

Bright wasn’t keen to comply, so Gil folded his arms and pinned the kid with a stern look, waiting him out.

“It’s only a scratch, dunno what the fuss is about,” Bright complained as he flopped back down onto the couch. He bristled sulkily as Gil sat down next to him.

Gil rubbed the young man’s shoulder before transferring the soothing movement to Brights neck. The kid was burning up. He put a hand to cheek and then forehead, not that he really needed further confirmation.

“You’ve got a fever kid, why did you come to work sick?”  
“It’s the flu...take me home an’ I’ll go to bed and sleep it off,”

Gil reached over and caught Bright’s hand, he eased the dressing back to examine the scratch, which looked more like a cut. He probed the area surrounding the wound gently, stopping when Bright yelped in pain. Gil’s brow creased as he looked at the red puffiness of the wound on the kid’s palm. He carefully replaced the inadequate dressing before releasing Bright’s hand. 

“How did this happen...when and how come you didn’t tell me about it?” 

Bright gave him a one shoulder shrug, “I broke a glass...don’t glare at me Gil. I took care of it, cleaned and put antibiotic cream on it. It’s no big deal, JT and Dani both noticed...it’s not like I hid it from you,” voice trailing over over the last part.

Gil suppressed the urge to throw a barrage of questions at Bright, instead opting to get him to the emergency room. The kid proved less than cooperative but after the very real threat of a fireman’s carry out of the office and through the building he grudgingly gave in. 

Gil’s badge and the Whitly name got them priority for triage, he did feel a little bad about jumping the queue. The alternative was several hours listening to Bright lie about how fine he was. And bizarrely the kid seemed to be regressing to a stroppy teen. He was putting it down the the effects of his fever, and Gil had nothing but admiration for the doctor who did his assessment. Who finally pried out of Bright he’d hurt his hand on broken glass a few days ago.

Much to Bright’s chagrin, an x-ray was ordered to check the wound and some blood tests. Just routine the doctor had pacified his uncooperative patient. Gil had a brainwave, searched though his jacket pockets and sighed with relief when he pulled out a few candies, handing the supply to Bright. The sugar fix got them though the tests relatively unscathed. But during the far too long, drive back to the kid’s loft...well Gil’s patience was tested.

“Malcolm! Just stop...please. You got your own way over avoiding the blood transfusion,”

“I don’t see how a bunch of injections are a win. He should’ve just given me a tablet, I’m only a bit anaemic,” Bright grouched.

“They don’t suggest transfusions for no reason kid, and jabs will be easier on your stomach kid” Gil placated.

“What did he know...he was a kid, probably some intern barely out of med school. And I’m not seeing a dietitian...”

“If you wanna argue about that kid, you can-with you mom, good luck with that,” Gil could’ve avoid a chuckle at the pouty glare.

“Why are you doing this to me?” Bright groaned plaintively, leaning against the window, eyes closing.

Keeping his eyes on the road ahead Gil reached out and patted Bright on the arm, “you’ll be okay, let’s get you home.”

“And I didn’t need that damned tetanus shot in my ass either,” Malcolm whined.

Luckily, well sort of. By the time Gil manhandled Bright out of the car and into his apartment he was compliant. Settling into sick kid mode, whiny sick kid mode, Gil corrected. He was not allowed to tell on him to his mom, he didn’t want any dinner and he was going to watch cartoons and eat jello. Gil might have to go get him some from the store though. 

Gil nodded as he steered Malcolm over to his bed easing him down,

“undressed an’ into bed kid, do you need any help?” He asked when Bright just sat.

Bright screwed up his face, as if thinking didn’t come naturally to him, 

“been undressing myself since I was four, think I can manage,” he pronounced quite proudly.

“Okay then, I’ll fetch your sleep stuff while you work on that kid,” Gil said and headed across the loft. On his return Bright hadn't made much head way. Gil nudged a discarded shoe out of his way, helped Bright the rest of the way out of his jacket.

“I’m sick, that baby doctor said I had a mild infection...think it was a mis-diagnosis,” Malcolm groaned.

“Mmh,” Gil acknowledged as he carried on undressing Bright, brushing a hand across his forehead. He was still ‘too’ hot, but the antibiotics should start kicking in soon. He knelt down and removed Brights other shoe.

“Gil?”  
“Yeah kid,” he said as he straightened up,  
“I need to pee...like now,” he said with a sense of urgency.  
“Malcolm! you don’t need my permission, go on then,” Gil wrapped an arm around the younger man getting him up.

Bright pouted,”you’re looking after me-should’ve sent me to the bathroom when we got home...isn’t that what you do after car rides?”

Shaking his head, Gil delivered a swat to the seat of Bright’s pants to get him moving.

“Ow!” Bright yelped, hands going back to shield his bottom.

“No way am I changing you out of peed pants, move it!” 

“That would be super embarrassing,” Malcolm tittered half to himself as he wobbled off to the bathroom, rubbing his bottom. 

Disaster successfully averted, Gil got Malcolm PJ’d and into bed. The sulks over not allowing the kid to camp out on the couch with his cartoons, he ignored without feeling much remorse. He sat on the side of the bed, looking at Malcolm’s flushed face. Okay he felt a little bad, 

“When you’ve had a nap and if you’re not feeling too poorly, cartoons might be back on the table,” he wagged a finger at the kid,” but only if you behave, okay?” He brushed the sweaty hair from Malcolm’s face, “deal?”

“And jello?”  
“When you’re asleep I’ll go to the store. Do you want your mouth guard in?” Gil asked as he reached for the restraint closest to him, Malcolm wriggling his hand into it.

“Will you be going home soon?” Bright asked, a catch in his voice.

Gil reached for the other strap and repeated the process of trapping Brights wrist, 

“No kid, I’m looking after you-remember? I’ll sleep on the couch or maybe bunk with you...now go sleep,” he fussed with the bedcovers as Malcolm drifted to sleep muttering,

“peach jello...soda...an cand...” 

With a fond smile, Gil hauled himself up and over to counter, he better give Jessica a call before he checked out the kids grocery status. He managed to stall Jessica from coming right over. Placated her with a promise of keeping her updated. She’d arrange Malcolm’s dietician appointment, whether he liked it or not. He had a feeling Bright’s living on Candy was about to come to an abrupt end. 

Malcolm woke with the floaty, slightly confused feeling he got sometimes from his meds- Something didn’t feel right, maybe he was still dreaming? Was he snuggling with someone...he stayed still, waiting to see if anything unpleasant happened. When it didn’t he braved opening his eyes and shifted slightly...his snuggle buddy was Gil? He settled back down against Gil’s chest-well it would be rude to disturb him wouldn’t it.

The call of nature finally forced him to move, he reluctantly extricated himself from Gil’s arm around his neck. He slid out of his side of the bed, well that was new too he mused with a twitching smile. The room spun a little, so he perched on the edge of the bed, staring at his bare legs and feet. Briefly wondering why he was in his underwear. He’d also remembered why Gil was there-in his caretaker role. He was only feeling slightly horrible this morning, now the room had settled back into place. So he could pack Gil off home when he roused. 

After taking care of his bathroom needs Malcolm pulled some sweats on, shivering a bit. Okay he felt marginally more horrible now, but no need to tell Gil that. He opened the fridge looking for a bottle of water, but was met with a neon explosion of colour. He grabbed the open door for support, looking at the scary content of his usually empty fridge. He vaguely wondered where Gil had found an open farmers market last night. His eyes lite on something more promising-peach jello, yay, he muttered grabbing the tub and snapping the door shut before any vegetables launched themselves at him.

He was less steady on his feet and definitely feeling horrible when he settled on the couch, cartoons would have to wait. He had a headache and was a bit nauseous, but he stubbornly ate his jello anyway. Without needing to look, he heard Gil was up, had his hair ruffled to prove the point.

“Morning kid,” Gil said on his way to fetch coffee. 

Ow, Malcolm mouthed silently, wincing as he clutched his head.

Gil sat on the other end of the couch, sipping coffee, eying Malcolm critically, “was gonna ask how you’re feeling,”

“Yeah I know...I look horrible,” Malcolm supplied.

“Okay then, back to bed and I’ll fix you some breakfast,” 

“I’ve eaten, and don’t you need to go home...cats or goldfish to feed?” Malcolm stubbornly ignored his growing nausea.

Gil glanced at the empty jello tub, “make the most your culinary freedoms kid, your Mom...”

“Gil...think I’m gonna be sick...” Malcolm groaned before lurching over the arm of the couch and puking. Before he’d managed to straighten up Gil was rubbing his back.

“You gonna be sick again? Need the bathroom?”

Shaking his head gingerly,” I’m really not a breakfast person,” he whimpered, resisting feebly when Gil scooped him up and carried him to the bed. Then he was back in bed with a thermometer stuck under his tongue. Gil went to get him some water and a wash cloth...and a bucket - just incase. Malcolm wasn’t even sure if his loft possessed such a thing. He’d put it on his bucket list, he giggled feverishly before flopping back into his pillows.

Gil left the water on the bedside table, gently wiped Bright’s clammy face with a cloth, he didn’t wake up. His temp was up a little, but not dangerously so, sleep was what he needed. He turned the top cover down, to cool him off. Then went to clean the mess on the floor up.

Next time Malcolm woke he started to suspect he was stuck in a Groundhog Day dream, he was just wearing a t-shirt and his boxer briefs. But he wasn’t snuggling with Gil? So no Groundhog Day? That was a bit disappointing, the snuggling part anyways. Ah here was his caretaker, but before he was able to make enquiries about his clothes Gil stuck the damn thermometer in his mouth again. Malcolm glared disapprovingly.

The thermometer retracted, Gil nodded in satisfaction at him, “a little better, good. How’re you feeling?” Apparently that was rhetorically cause Malcolm found himself manhandled up the bed, a glass thrust into his hand.

“Need you to rehydrate kid,” Gil encouraged.

“Whiskey?” Malcolm guessed hopefully, ugh, juice...watered down juice, “yuk.” he pulled a face, trying unsuccessfully to palm it back on Gil. But Gil was insistent and he was too weak to fight, so he drank the juice. Turns out he was thirsty and it wasn’t so bad. 

Gil, perched beside Malcolm held out a hand for the empty glass, 

“You’re a sweaty mess kid, I’ll run you a bath, okay?”

Malcolm slid down into the bed,”too tired,” 

“No problem, I’ll give you a hand...you stink kid,” Gil said conversationally, getting up.

Malcolm would’ve pulled the blankets over his head dramatically, but not only were his clothes missing, his blankets had gone AWOL too. He pulled the sheet over his head, and promised himself he’d never as much as neglect a hangnail in future. Being sick sucked.

Malcolm was a good patient through bath time, and was rewarded with clothing. He wasn’t gonna let on to Gil, but it was kinda nice being looked after. It reminded him of weekends spent at the Arroyo house with Gil and Jackie when he was a kid, being taken care of after nightmares or after a crappy day in school. 

Parental Gil could be a bit bossy though, prying into when he’d last eaten...just because he’d had a few wobbles in the bathing process. Malcolm had given him a fleeting smile and a shoulder shrug, putting off the inevitable force feeding sure to follow. The nausea had settled anyways and Gil promised to cut his toast into soldiers if he ate all the scrambled eggs. He pouted a little when Gil refused his request for a side order of liquorice.

Who’d of thought he had a secret weapon in his arsenal? What was it - whining! He’d been quite surprised to find Gil so susceptible to it, maybe a whiny Malcolm was just too adorable to resist. Or just as likely whiny brat Malcolm had worn Gil down, either ways it got him what he wanted...to a point. Even sick he wasn’t a dumb ass, knew certain things would be off limits while Gil was in caretaker mode. So he tried not to overstep, didn’t want to end up flipped over Gil’s knee for a spanking. Now that would be embarrassing.

Malcolm stirred from his comfy position on the couch, making good use of Gil’s lap as a cushion,

“Gil, you’re blocking my view,” he whined and heard rustling above his head.

“Thought you were sleeping,” Gil folded his newspaper and put it aside.

“Come on Gil, who sleeps through The Simpsons,” Malcolm wriggled slightly, looking for his sweet comfy spot, curling up closer to Gil.

“Kid that stuff will rot your brain. I’d have thought a nice educational documentary would be more your thing.”

“Hey! They have educational guests, although maybe Cheech and Chong would appeal to you more?” Malcolm fidgeted to get his bare feet under the comforter.

Gil narrowed his eyes squinting down, and lightly swatted in the general direction of Malcolm’s bottom. Which brought a pouty complaint,

“Watch it! Kid. Quit wriggling, don’t know why you don’t just sit in my lap,”

Malcolm rolled over, looking up,”now I know you’re just teasing,” he whined...although he sorta wished he’d thought of that himself. He felt the back of Gil’s hand on his forehead, then smoothing through his recently washed hair. This is nice he thought sleepily, then grumped when Gil shifted out from under him.

“You’re feeling a bit cooler now, Let’s check your temp kid,” 

His temperature was almost back to normal range, and Malcolm wasn’t sure why he had mixed feelings about that. It would mean that Gil would go home, he’d run around after a sick Malcolm for almost 24 hours. Poor guy must be worn out. Malcolm would get his privacy back. But a small part of him, the selfish part would welcome Gil taking care of him a little longer, despite his whines and pouting to the contrary. 

“You okay kid?” Gil’s tone concerned.

Malcolm metaphorically shook himself out of his temporary stupor, ‘I’m good,’ fell back on his familiar cliché.

“K then, meds, dinner an’ off to bed young man,” 

Malcolm guessed he was okay with the meds part, and he’d eventually be going to bed, so fine. But more food? Seriously?

“I’ll get something later Gil, don’t you wanna go home now? I’m fine on my own, you’ve done enough.” Sitting up, Malcolm pulled his knees in to his chin, bundled in his throw. Wondering why he was feeling like an abandoned little kid. And why was Gil looking at him like that? 

“You trying to get rid of me kid?” Gil scolded gently. 

Malcolm blinked rapidly, arms tightening around his knees, jaw trembling as he fought back tears. Damn he must be getting delirious or something, he was about to start blubbering.

“No,” he said, with a forced watery smile, that turned into a sniffle. 

“Hey, what’s this?” Gil joined him on the couch, enveloping Malcolm is a fierce hug.

“I don’t wanna eat dinner...I’m full,” wasn’t that a perfectly reasonable excuse for the tears running down his face? He hoped so as he buried his face in Gil’s sweater, enjoying the close contact, even while feeling pathetic and needy. 

Gil rubbed a comforting hand up and down Bright’s arm, waiting for him to calm,

“You’re still eating dinner kid,” he even sounded a little apologetic.

“Gil, no!” Malcolm whined, “It might make me sick...”  
“I’ll compromise kid, no three course meal tonight, just a sandwich. And a bucket,” Gil added with a rumbling low chuckle.

“Stop being mean Gil!” Malcolm ineffectively punched Gil in the chest.

“It’s called parenting kid.” Gil eased Malcolm away so he could look at him, wiping at a stray tear.

“Take your meds and drink your juice, then I need to look at your hand kid.”

Malcolm watched Gil as he pottered around the kitchen, hoping there’d be no inquisition about how he’d actually cut his hand. He flexed the hand in question, wincing in discomfort. He tossed his pills down and drained his juice, as Gil returned with a bowl of water and medical supplies. Malcolm twizzled around so he could offer Gil his hand, complying with his silent gesture. Kept his fidgeting to a minimum while his hand was attended to and redressed. 

“Why did you allow that to get infected?” Gil asked shortly, nodding at Malcolm’s hand.

Okay, now for the tricky part, even though he was definitely not intimidated by Gil’s steady look, didn’t have difficulty maintaining eye contact...much.

”I didn’t...let it happen...like you said, I’m not a doctor.” He was trying for picture of innocence, maybe he could pull it off. Gil’s eyes narrowed worryingly, incredulity bordering on...cross? So maybe not so much.

“I was busy solving the case Gil...I cleaned it-bandaged it! See, basic first aid carried out.” he reached for his blanket, like it would save him if Gil pounced.

Gil stared intensely at Malcolm, before relaxing slightly, “you’re very lucky not to be going over my knee right now kid. And we still might revisit this once you’re feeling better. Got it?” Malcolm nodded emphatically, he’d take a reprieve gratefully, even if Gil was making him feel like he’d done something downright naughty. 

“Good, now you behave while I change the bed and fix your sandwich...if you’re very good there may even be dessert. Unless you’re feeling to sickly to manage it?” Gil smiled as Malcolm perked up at the mention of pudding. 

Before long Malcolm was tucked up in bed with his pillows fluffed and balancing a plate of sandwiches on his knee. Gil had cut his sandwiches up for him, like he was a little kid...but the crusts were still on, so technically that still made him an adult. Right? He’d let himself down a little, whining about the lack of desert. But luckily Gil was adopting the carrot and stick method of parenting. Savoury first then the pudding...only for good boys mind you. 

On route from putting his plate in the sink and a trip to the bathroom, Malcolm went looking for his pudding. He tentatively lowered himself onto the couch, sitting cross-legged savouring his desert. Gil was engrossed in his paper the TV on in the background. Malcolm edged a hand towards the remote-maybe he’d sneak in another hour of TV.

“Bed,” Gil told him without looking up, “the adults need some peace and quiet.”

“I’m an adult?” He wasn’t sure why that came out as a question, and the look Gil gave him wasn’t exactly reassuring. With a pout he handed over his empty plate and the remote to Gil.

“Can’t I...”  
“Nope, bed. Now.”

Feeling hard done by and a little headachy, Malcolm did as he’d been told. 

“Gil?”  
“Kid?”  
“Will you tuck me in and read me a story?” Malcolm whined.  
“If it means you’ll be quiet and go to sleep, sure kid,”  
“An a bottle of water...’m thirsty...”

Rolling his eyes, Gil hauled himself up and fetched the kid his water. Malcolm was a bit flushed again, didn’t need the thermometer to confirm his temp was up.

“How about I stay with you until you fall asleep kid, let’s leave the story until you feel better?” Gil coaxed.

Malcolm gave that his due consideration, before flopping his restrained hands feebly against the bedclothes,

Sounding devastated, he whimpered,”I can’t snuggle with these on!”

Gil sat beside him, reaching for Malcolm’s hand,”let’s take these off shall we,” 

“Why’m I sick again, s’not fair,” Malcolm complained as Gil slipped his shoes off and lay down next to him. Gil held an arm out to him, Malcolm rolled onto his side and wrapped both arms around him tightly. Burying himself in the warm familiar comfort that was Gil. Knowing he should be embarrassed about acting like a baby. But Gil was the only one he could really let his guard down with, Gil loved him unconditionally. Even when he was being a brat, a whiny brat even. Safe in the knowledge of that love, Malcolm snuggled down, relaxing into sleep.


End file.
